


Traitorous

by Minyron



Series: From Hell we come, to Hell we go [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Agender Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe - Nazi Germany, Alternate Universe - World War II, Antisemitism, Aryan supremacy, Atheism, Auschwitz, Death Marches, Domination, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, German Theo Raeken, Holocaust, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Misogyny, M/M, Mentions of Majdanek, Mentions of actual SS members, Mentions of the USSR, Misogyny, Nazi Kink, Nazi apologist rhetoric, Nazi racial ideology, Nihilism, Non-historical elements, Partitions of Poland, Physical Abuse, Psychopath Theo Raeken, Racism, Sadism, Suicide Attempt, Supernatural Elements, Verbal Humiliation, Whump, World War II, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:19:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4933900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minyron/pseuds/Minyron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The impending fate of the Reich wreaks havoc on both Theo and Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Traitorous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aleska](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleska/gifts).



> HAPPY STEO WEEK!!! <3
> 
> This one is short but loaded. Things will go down and do so fast, so brace yourselves for big changes.

Reinhardt Raeken was a man of science. A mastermind of racial hygiene, he’d studied in Frankfurt under Otmar Freiherr, and had known Josef Mengele before he’d come assist him in Auschwitz. Together with him, they had been a major engine in the project to improve the Aryan race. It took many years, but ultimately led to individuals like Theo, his own proud son. Young and promising boys were the top choice; their coming into manhood was only an advantage for them to harness the power that came with lycanthropy.

Reinhardt had found himself alone with a child, nine months after a careless weekend, and with a complicated birth. He’d refused to let fatherhood distract him from his studies, though. Instead, he made Theo into his biggest project. He had the means to provide him with a nice education in Berlin, and the boy saw his veteran grandfather and uncle more than him. It may be why he ended up on a soldier’s path and not an academic one. Still, Reinhardt always knew some of his intelligence had passed onto Theo and that the boy was cleverer than he let on.  

The biologists wanted to make an army, the Last Battalion, in case things took a wrong turn. They indeed were heading downhill for occupied Poland, and in quick succession after Operation Bagration. Launched three years after the Führer attacked the USSR, it had made Stalin return to the same position they had three years before. The summer and early fall of 1944 saw loss after loss, and panic was starting to seep among the highest authorities.

Theo hadn’t been optimistic for a long time, but now his spirit was actually sinking. He reached the breaking point when his discussions with his dad intensified.

“For all your brilliance, you’re dim on this one”, Theo said loudly, pointing at the map at the center of the table, “If you have any idea at all about strategy, you should know that operation was a disaster. The whole Eastern Front has had too many flaws like that, but no one changed a thing!”

Reinhardt adjusted his glasses, meeting his son’s gaze with a stern look.

“No one argues the Führer. His plans were perfect, we just had the wrong circumstances”, he explained, “Still, he will pull it off and we’ll successfully defend the Motherland, or die trying”.

Theo swallowed, clenching his fists.

“That’s quite easy for you to say”, he retaliated with disgust, “you weak-willed men of books, who haven’t killed an enemy in their lives. But you’re fucking blind!”, he screamed, making his father take a step back.

“Yeah, exactly, you praise them but actually don’t know two shits about what’s going on in the battles. The war is lost! No one could pull it from _here_. The Wehrmacht is a damn failure, and the Russians will be on our doorstep in weeks!”, Theo added angrily.

Brief panic coursed through Reinhardt’s eyes, but then he just sighed, taking a step forward and slapping Theo. It took him by surprise, the noise filling the room. He looked back at his father defiant. His cheek was bright red and his eyes watery; he only felt fury.

“You shut your mouth and say no more”, Reinhardt replied, with an anger Theo’d never seen in his father.

Few times did the man lose his temper, and his voice turned dark and crude. Theo’s anger toned down reflexively.

“I made you into what you are. I took you in, because you bear my name. You will be 18 in days, so don’t you dare talk about soldiers like that, when you have yet to place a foot on a battlefield. I know I am not a soldier, but I am other things. It was _me_ who made you destined for great things, for God’s sake, and yet you talk like a scared little cunt.”

Theo inhaled sharply, taking yet another step back, as his father pulled out a revolver. Reinhardt took one of his hands suddenly and placed the weapon on his palm, handing it over.

His father came down surprisingly fast after his initial outburst.

“If you say one defeatist word again, kill yourself and spare us the shame of losing our time with a coward. We will hold position here, as we’re commanded. And if you have the guts I always thought you had, you’ll wait for the SS to claim you and join the lines”, he finished, taking off his glasses.

He placed them on the table so hard the lenses broke, giving his back to his son and leaving.  Theo startled as the door closed loudly, and he found himself frozen on the spot. His mouth was too dry.

*

Theo was not defeatist. He was a realist, and everybody around him was deluded. Even gods died, too great to be; they collapsed onto themselves. The Führer had gone mad long ago. The high officers thought they could still do something – but he knew better. He knew that the Red Army was coming, and that they’d capture them all. That his father actually had no idea, and just clung himself to his life’s work, refusing to believe it was all in vain. That history would be rewritten, that the Germans were the ones in real danger now, about to be erased.

Even the American vultures were approaching the imminent carcass of their Empire. That’s why many high officers were jittery, why others mysteriously disappeared. It was the reason he hadn’t slept well in months, a fitful sleep full of nightmares. Why he barely fucked Stiles, preferring to just tie him up and hurt him, the urge so strong he’d physically ache until he saw the boy bleed. His anxiety only subsided when he’d made him scream his breath away. When he made him suffer.

“ _When will they come to save you, TELL ME, YOU FUCKING WHORE, WHEN_!”

Stiles would yelp, but he never begged for mercy anymore. He barely talked at all. He’d lost some weight, and Theo hadn’t bothered to look after that with all he had between his hands.

When he was done with Stiles, though, Theo would stare silently at his hands, dig his claws into his own palms until it truly hurt. It healed, but he knew the kind of power he craved was long gone, and he felt so empty. He realized what Stiles _actually_ was to him, and he couldn’t breathe.

Sometimes the most willful act to be done was handing power over. What he felt wasn’t only desire; he could hardly ignore that now. But he ached for that ultimate form of acceptance.

There was only one last resort before the end came. 

*

On Christmas Theo got courageous enough, the façade of normalcy too much to bear.

He rushed inside his room in the night, closing the door behind him. Stiles sat cross-legged on the floor, where he’d left him, so he gestured for him to stand up. Theo walked towards him as Stiles rose and left some distance between them. He looked at the boy face to face.

“I want you to make an escape before the camp falls. Look for Heather, I’ve left her the keys and a route”, Theo said nervously, eyeing the window suspiciously.

He took a deep breath and looked at Stiles, determined.

It was then he took out the revolver, but Stiles didn’t react. He took off the safety with his thumb, and Stiles still didn’t react. Theo finally put his finger over the trigger, with a firm grip, and pressed the barrel into Stiles’s mouth. Past his lips, he could hear the clatter of metal against the boy’s front teeth.

Stiles’s eyes stared back at him, defiant. Theo sensed a dark aura, tasted the metal inside his own mouth.

He gulped, looking back at Stiles with a hurt expression. Tears pooled in his eyes, and then finally he broke crying, letting down the gun. He looked away, and then offered it to Stiles, who took it apprehensively. For the first time his face showed an emotion, surprise.

“Kill me”, Theo begged, “please”

Stiles’s surprise was fleeting, because his expression hardened again instead.

“What?”, he replied, voice deep and firm.

“Isn’t that what you want?”, Theo cried at him, knees weak, “I beg of you, please”, he went on, “I can’t live like this.”

Stiles hummed, playing with the gun between his deft fingers. His face was impassive, while Theo made a mess of himself. His breathing was more and more erratic as he placed his hands on the cold floor, kneeling, and looked down.

“Why me?”, Stiles asked, simply.

Theo looked up at him, tears rolling down his cheeks, his blue eyes in the barest expression Stiles had seen. He looked so innocent, but Stiles knew better.

“You’re the enemy”, Theo said, as their gazes met, “It’s poetic, right?”, he said, sighing a laugh.

Stiles didn’t seem convinced.

“Stiles, I need it to be you. I need you to be the one to destroy me. You _hate_ me, I know you do. I want a honorable death. Don’t you understand, I just need this from you”, he pleaded.

Stiles crouched, and Theo had crawled enough that they were face to face again. Theo found something unreadable in him, and he felt more scared than he did in his nightmares, where the Red Army captured Auschwitz with them in it.

“There’s no such thing as an honorable death”, Stiles spat back at him, and looked away for a second, before piercing him with golden eyes again. Theo swallowed, and he stopped breathing.

“Perhaps I hated you, but you have destroyed me in so many ways. I’m not what I was when I first met you. I don’t know what I am anymore. But I know what _you_ are”, Stiles replied, a spark in his eyes lighting up.

Soon, his gaze became red with fury.

“ _You’re nothing to me_ ”, he confessed, as he dropped the gun.

Theo’s eyes opened wide when it hit the floor, the sound filling the room. He was speechless.

“I don’t want you dead”, Stiles added casually, as he stood up, “I wish you pain. I want you to suffer. And I know you will, because you’re too self-absorbed to take your own life”, he went on, looking at the gun.

“You’re a coward”, Stiles said, looking back at him, “trust me to know that”

Theo fell back onto a sitting position, hyperventilating. He tried to speak, but his voice was broken.

“P-please St-… I… I can’t”, he said, cut off when Stiles stared down at him.

Spit landed on his nose.

“I hope you can taste the ashes. My only regret is that I won’t know. All of you will pay the same way. But it’s okay, because I don’t ever want to see you again”, Stiles blurted, and he walked away.

He left the door open, and Theo shivered at the cold air left behind.

He slumped on the floor, crying more as he attempted to shoot the gun inside his mouth. He was unable to pull the trigger, and discarded it violently.

Zamiel stared down at Theo from the desk, and he looked up at the cat too. He extended his arm, reaching out for his friend when the cat jumped onto the floor.

It just walked past him, though, and left the room like Stiles had minutes before.

*

Heather found a home that took her in on Polish grounds, where she used to live before the war. By January the 17th, the Auschwitz Death Marches commenced. Prisoners were evacuated away from reach of the Allies, shot if they could not walk fast enough. Stiles, fully recovered, left Heather in good hands and set for the fields, an inexplicable pull dragging him away.

She told him that God would protect him, and he remembered her words the whole night, cackling maniacally. Tired, he looked up at the stars on an abandoned cottage, and he pondered the amount of lies needed to keep someone sane; whether he actually preferred insanity. Whether anything that made him far removed from humanity was better. If he was unreachable, he couldn’t be hurt. Not anymore.

*

Theo and Reinhardt Raeken left for Berlin the same day, when the camp had closed, alongside some other authorities. The SS had finally summoned the Last Battalion, and Theo had been admitted and promoted. In the meantime, the Death Marches had the Soviets at their heels.

Unknown to everyone in Poland, the Germans were not the only ones with supernatural allies. Nothing new under the sun, and nothing new away from its light. Some of the specters that haunted them were closer than others. Flaming red hair, pale skin, and a passion stronger than a thousand men; a night that would only see dawn with its nemesis crushed.

**Author's Note:**

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> ~The Red Army is coming
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> and bringing something supernatural with it too.


End file.
